


Alliances of Winter

by verati



Series: The Last Game [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mention of one-sided Jon/Dany, Political Jon, Scheming Cersei is the best Cersei, Several POVs, Unreliable Narrator, season 8 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verati/pseuds/verati
Summary: Bran drops his hand from the carved face. The world is blurry before it rights itself to the present. It won’t be long, now.Like a round of cyvasse, the pieces are all in place.Cersei thrums her fingers on the throne, her nails clack against the darkened steel.Daenerys touches Jon’s arm and gently turns him away from Winterfell and towards her.The imp of Casterly Rock watches the eunuch watch the scenery pass by.Lady Arya is nowhere to be found. It seems she isn’t there to welcome her cousin home.The Lady of Winterfell opens her arms and holds Jon Snow in a welcoming embrace.Jaime squints at the sun. Two more days and he’ll be able to divest himself of one of the many guilts that taint his conscience.Bran watches as a clump of snow crashes to the ground from above. The heart tree’s leaves are heavy, weighed down by Winter’s first true snowfall.The final game has begun.





	Alliances of Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babykanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykanima/gifts).



> I posted a _very_ rough version of this on Tumblr. Posting it helped me push through the writer’s block I had with it. Thanks to the people who commented on it!

Cersei thrums her fingers on the throne, her nails clack against the darkened steel. She was never a patient creature and the crown that rests upon her head only serves to validate her impatience. She is tired of waiting for men. The world would be better off without them, she thinks. They’re all treacherous scum seeking to feed off of the fairer sex. And once their appetite has been satiated they leave in search of something new. 

The throne room is empty save for the Mountain. Qyburn has just left, his message delivered and received. The remaining lords and ladies have already scampered back to their hovels. _It’s better to be alone than in bad company. Much better._

In strides Euron Greyjoy. If rumors are to be believed, he’s the last male Greyjoy with a working cock. Cersei thinks the wannabe pirate brags too much about his _sword_. Of what she’s seen, her prisoner in the dark cells is more of a kraken than both remaining male relatives combined. But that is the lot of women. Their sex will always pull them under. She is the exception.

A crown and a throne work wonders. A queen is so much more than a woman. A queen is power. And Cersei will burn anyone who stands in her way. 

“You’re back. Good. Am I to assume you were successful?” 

Euron Greyjoy tries to saunter towards her. He only succeeds in repulsing her. The weeks he spent away have diluted her memory of him. He is fouler than she remembered. The odor of stagnant ocean water can not be masked by the, rather obvious, perfumes he has brought back from across the Narrow Sea. Even from atop the throne she can smell him.

 _As if I would ever suffer another man with an ego-complex._ Cersei looks towards her shield.  _The Mountain will snap his neck before his breath ever so much as_ touches _me._

The Mountain strikes out a thick arm to stop his advances. Greyjoy lifts a dark eyebrow and puts his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender. He doesn’t move any closer. Cersei likes this. Who knew she would one day be able to command men with a simple tilt of her head? The Mountain drops his arm but stays standing next to Euron. 

“Yes, my queen,” his leer is more than evident in his voice, “I’ve brought back the Golden Company just as we agreed. Now, I expect to be properly compensated.” 

She peers down at him. He wants to marry her and be her king. She would be an idiot to trust him. There are others who have pledged themselves to her. Others who she can, and has, controlled better. But there may be some use to him, yet.

Cersei leers back. She is queen, and a lion. She will not be cowed by an irreverent squid. “Ah, yes. Your compensation...”

 

* * *

 

 _It’s certainly not what I was expecting. Not that I know what I was expecting to begin with but..._ Dany accepts Jorah’s hand as he helps her dismount the finicky Northern steed. Her eyes wander to Jon who is looking towards Winterfell. _Nevermind that. I’m sure it is more inviting, warmer, on the inside. Much like its former king._

“It is a sight I did not think I would ever see again. You have made one of my greatest dreams possible, my queen.”

Daenerys turns towards the old bear. She can see true thankfulness in his eyes. It is a homecoming for more than one northerner, today. In the flurry of action she had forgotten that Jorah would most likely be reuniting with family. She is glad one of her oldest supporters will soon fulfill their biggest wish because of her. 

“My dear friend, it has been a long journey but you are finally back home in the north.” She clasps his arm. “Mayhaps the north will become a home of sorts for me as well.”

Underneath her hand she can feel him tense at her words. She knows her bear holds no love for the wolf that is slowly, but surely, melting the ice around her heart. Jorah’s jealousy is flattering but she knows what she wants. With a smile Daenerys leaves Jorah and walks towards Jon.

The white landscape and the cold makes her uncomfortable but she will never admit it. What is a little snow and winter wind to a dragon made of fire? Jon remains facing towards Winterfell when she finally arrives at his side. “We are almost there. I am eager to meet your family, Jon Snow.”

Jon hums his agreement. 

They’ve stopped to arrange any last minute details before arriving at Winterfell. Her children are to be sent somewhere close to the keep but far away enough to not cause panic. Jon had insisted. She is loathe to part from them but ultimately yields. He probably knows the northerners better than she. Nevertheless, she misses them. She fears to lose them ever since the incident beyond the wall. Her eyes search the sky for Drogon. She can feel his presence. He is still near. 

She can hear Tyrion, and Varys discuss some trivial matters with the Unsullied about what to expect in regards to their welcome. _Details, details, details. I’m tired of waiting._

Daenerys touches Jon and gently turns him away from Winterfell and towards her. He moves stiffly in the cold. _I will be sure to warm him up later in his Lord’s chambers._ “You have been awfully quiet. More so than usual. Should I be worried?”

Jon’s eyes slowly warm at her words. The corner of his lips upturn in a reassuring smile. No wonder Jorah is jealous. His worry over her is obvious now. In her very rare moments of worry, or anxiety he is always there to reassure her. She is quite sure he is in love with her. She herself doesn’t love him. Yet.  _I could. I am in danger of it. I feel it._

“No. There is nothing to worry about. I will speak with the Northern lords and make them understand that you are here to fight with us.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “They will see you for what you are.”

Those words again. Just like before they light a fire within her. He sees her for what she is. A liberator. A savior. A queen.

 _His queen._  

The breaker of chains looks up at the last King of the North. He looks like he is holding himself back from a great emotion. _He must want to hold me now._ Daenerys wouldn’t care but he has been adamant in avoiding any kind of public intimacy for fear of repercussion to their political alliance. She admires his patience and fortitude. As mother of dragons she forgets how it must be for the rest of the world. To always have to care what others think or do. To not take without asking. Always waiting for permission. What a bleak existence that must be. 

A shout from behind breaks their tension. It is time to move again. Jon nods at her and leaves to mount his horse. Daenerys watches his cloak flap behind him like  black wings. Soon she’ll meet his people. His family. Soon she’ll learn more about the king who gave away his kingdom for love. 

_For me._

 

* * *

 

“He’s almost here.” Bran says. The low and long sound of a horn interrupts him. “Observe and take in as much as you can. Go.”

 

* * *

 

Tyrion had forgotten how utterly dull the North is. _Everywhere I look, snow covers everything._

Varys has his hands hidden away, like always, within the confines of his sleeves. The muted colors of his robes only serve to remind him that summer is long gone. Tyrion turns to look outside of the carriage window. They are near Winterfell’s gates. Won’t be long before it all goes to the Seven Hells. The Northern fools are too stubborn to take kindly to a Targaryen queen. He doesn’t have high hopes for this alliance. _Not since–_

”You know, your face is doing that thing again.”

”I’m sorry but I’m afraid you will have to elaborate. My handsome features do many ‘things’. What exactly are you talking about?”

Varys looks out of the opposite window. The view is the same. Snow. “You used to be better at hiding your thoughts, your feelings. Not enough to fool me, of course. But now you’re an open book even an illiterate could read.”

Tyrion turns to look at Varys. “And what do you see on my face, hm? If I’m such an open book, pray, tell me.”

The imp of Casterly Rock watches the eunuch watch the scenery pass by.

 _Of course._ Now _he’s quiet._  

The carriage rolls to a stop. They’ve arrived. “Fear, Tyrion. That’s what I see. You are wise to feel that way.” Varys pauses before fully exiting the carriage. “But a fool to show it.”

 

* * *

 

The serving girl leaves the godswood behind her. She picks up her coarse skirts and makes her way to the outside of the keep proper. The king is come back with a Targaryen! Her curiosity makes her run fast and nimble as she weaves her way through the soldiers and serving folk. 

“Watch it, girl. You near ran me over!”

Anise doesn’t stop. Her hazel eyes drink in everything they can. The horses, the people, the carts. She perches herself atop a stack of empty vegetable crates to get a better view. She anxiously awaits for a sign of dragons in the overcast sky. The Lannister imp is here, as is a bald plump man. She can see them through the small windows of their carriage.

_Varys. His name is Varys._

Anise has never met them before. But names are easy to come by. She notices the soldiers are well trained. Even in their strange winter garb they show no signs of discomfort. That must be the Unsullied. 

There is another kind of soldier in the courtyard. They are quite different and seem to be faring worse than the Unsullied. Their ears are rust red and their long black hair swings wildly behind them. There aren’t many of them here. Thirty at most.

_Dothraki._

They are speaking a strange mixture of the common tongue and a language Anise has never heard before. Nevertheless, she listens and recognizes a few phrases.

“Cold...Khalessi...Snow”

“...Gold...lions...burn”

“...food...food...food...”

Anise turns her attention towards the king. He has finally returned to Winterfell. He’s finally here. 

_Will he recognize me after all these years? Do I want him to recognize me?_

Anise pushes these strange thoughts away. She is a simple serving girl. She has no ties to the king. She is only here to watch and observe.

The main party and King Jon are soon within the walls of Winterfell. The procession of Unsullied keeps passing by, arranging themselves around the keep. She watches them.

_They are too many to house inside. The  Targaryen girl and her retinue will be housed inside. But what about all her men?_

Anise swings her feet and, to pass the time, makes a game of counting how many carts of food and resources she can see.

_Five,_

Grain.

_Ten,_

Cloth, animal skins, a few furs.

_Fifteen,_

Weapons.

_Twen—_

A screech is the only warning she and the rest of the bystanders receive before everyone scampers away in fear. Anise doesn’t know where her courage comes from but she stands on the crates and bends her head back in awe. 

_Dragons. They’re real._

_They’re_ here _._

The dragon flies directly above Winterfell before flying into the mist and fog of the woods. She jumps off the crates. There is much one can learn from being at the right place at the right time. It’s time to leave her perch. Anise looks with wonder at the passing caravan. With wide eyes and a juvenile smile she follows the Targaryen procession into Winterfell’s courtyard.

 

* * *

 

It’s cold and the days are getting shorter. Gilly is used to it so she doesn’t complain. Everyone is in a frenzy. A horn of some sort is signaling the arrival of Jon Snow and his aunt. She remembers hearing it an hour or two ago when they had first been spotted by the watchmen.  Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen are here. Her name sounds funny to Gilly but what does she know of queens and dragons? 

“Gilly, come! He’s here!”

Gilly looks at Sam in mild bemusement. He sounds like a child in his excitement. Gilly adjusts Little Sam on her hip and follows him to the railing that overlooks the courtyard. There is so much noise that Little Sam squirms in curiosity but Gilly strengthens her hold. It wouldn’t do for him to leave her arms. Not with soldiers and dragons in their midst. 

“Where are the dragons, Sam?”

His eyes never waver from the action underneath. “Eh, I don’t know. Perhaps they’re away from the keep?”

She has never seen a dragon. But she has seen creatures of ice. She isn’t sure that creatures of fire are any better.

Gilly sets her sight on the newcomers. A head of white, silverlike hair stands off by the entrance to the castle. She, for Gilly can see her fair features, is flanked by soldiers. They are dressed in black leather with dark, sun-kissed skin she has never seen before.  _That must be the dragon queen. Then where is Jon Snow..._

Gilly finds him. His head of black hair is walking towards Sansa Stark. Gilly inhales her surprise. The Lady opens her arms and holds Jon Snow in a welcoming embrace. In the small amount of time Gilly has been in Winterfell she has noted how restrictive Sansa Stark is with her affection and touch. When she first met her she had thought her to be Winterfell’s queen. Gilly brushes Little Sam’s hair back. She doesn’t think she has ever seen the Lady of Winterfell touch someone so intimately before. 

She wonders where Lady Arya is. If Sam is correct, she was the one Jon Snow would talk about the most during their time at the Night’s Watch. It seems she isn’t here to welcome her cousin home. 

In that moment a terrible sound meets her ears, and makes Little Sam cry. The courtyard is hit by wind and shadow as the sun seems to be momentarily smothered. In the covered walkway Gilly can only see the end of the beast’s tail as it flies overhead. She presses her son closer to her chest.

“Sam! A dragon! They—they’re real!”

What else could it be if not a dragon?

There is a change in the air after that small terrifying moment and Gilly focuses on the men and women in the courtyard. She wasn’t the only one scared by the dragon. Common and noble folk alike  are twisting and turning their heads to see if another dragon will pass by. Lady Sansa acts as if nothing happened but Gilly can see how the blonde lady knight moved closer to her lady.

“...queen Daenerys Targaryen. I promised I would...”

“Oh.” Sam mutters. “Oh, no.”

No one is kneeling in the courtyard. Isn’t it part of their customs? To kneel? She read that somewhere, she is sure of it. But no one is kneeling when Jon Snow introduces his aunt to the people of Winterfell. Gilly is confused. Is he no longer king?

Little Sam pulls at his father’s cloak until Sam relents and carries him. Daenerys Targaryen walks towards Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Unlike her soldiers, the queen is dressed in thick white furs that surely keep her warm.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.” Sansa Stark’s voice carries in the stillness of the moment. Gilly doesn’t believe her. She has seen this woman care for her castle like Gilly herself cares for Little Sam. Daenerys Targaryen seems pleased, though.

“Is Winterfell no longer the Starks’? What is going on, Sam?”

Sam continues to look at Jon Snow as he leads his aunt to the inside of Winterfell.

“I‘m not sure, Gilly. All I know is this complicates everything.” Gilly and Sam watch how the dragon queen’s eyes follow Jon Snow everywhere he goes. “Jon, what have you done?”

 

* * *

 

 _It’s strange, being here._ He hikes his rucksack over his shoulder. _I wonder if..._

“This is queen Daenerys Targaryen. I promised I would come back with aid for the fight against the Others.” She begins to walk towards Jon Snow as he introduces her. “In bringing her to the North I have fulfilled that promise.”

Her white and red furs make her stand out against the stones, mud, and wood. Sansa Stark seems to lose some of the levity she had upon embracing her brother. He doesn’t blame her. Having a dragon flying above your home without warning and scaring your people _is_ a bit rude. Then again, _are_ there proper courtesies when it comes to dragons?

The Targaryen girl stops by Jon Snow’s side and faces Sansa Stark. He makes note that no one in the courtyard kneels before the mother of dragons. If the Lady of Winterfell doesn’t kneel neither does its people.

_Well, this is awkward._

She doesn’t seem bothered. _Or maybe she doesn’t see it as a slight. Considering her and Jon’s—_

“Winterfell is yours...”

A servant squeezes past him and draws his attention away from the scene playing out before them all. His rucksack slides off his shoulder with her movement and thuds to the cold ground.

“Hey, look where you’re going,” he mutters as he bends to pick it up.

Quick as a whip the little maid turns her blonde head. Her mouth opens when she sees him. Her eyes shift from young innocence to something far too jaded for her age. The girl’s stare makes him feel transparent. 

“What? You want to catch flies or something, kid?”

She looks down at his war hammer before looking back up at him. 

“Gendry?” Her voice tilts at the end but it doesn’t sound like a question. She seems certain of who he is.

“Do I know you?” His eyebrows come together in concentration as he takes a step towards her. 

Before he knows it she’s gone and lost among the Unsullied, Dothraki, and northerners. 

The Hound hits his shoulder with a heavy hand. “Come on, _Bull_.” His voice is mocking. “Us beasts are far too low for them pretty creatures. She had one look at ya and ran away.”

He’s in ~~Arry’s~~ _Lady Arya’s_  home, now. There’s no way he can forget how low he is. Gendry shoulders the offending hand away and follows the rest of the men inside. _As if I needed a reminder of how low I am. I’ve known that my entire life._

 

* * *

 

Leagues away from Winterfell the fingers of winter are tightening their grip. Slowly and surely the grass and trees are stiffening with frost. Jaime squints at the lowering sun. Nightfall is drawing near. He would be worried but it has been more than a sennight since he left Kings Landing behind. The chances of being captured by his sister’s forces weaken with each step his horse takes.

“You know, it’s gonna cost you more than before. Now that there’s _two_ queens who’d put your pretty blonde head on a spike.”

 _You’re wrong. There’s_ three _queens. My father wasn’t wrong when he named Sansa Stark the Key to the North._

Jaime pulls on the reins of his horse and steers him towards an off-road clearing.

_I’m only hoping Brienne will stay the hand of her red-haired queen._

“If I didn’t know any better I’d almost think you cared about me, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.”

The mercenary lets out a cackle into the thicket and trees. “Oh, I care. You Lannisters always pay your debts.” He unstraps the bundles from his horse. “But you can only pay them if I keep you alive.”

Jaime let’s the conversation drop. They’re close to their destination. Two more days and he’ll be able to divest himself of one of the many guilts that taint his conscience.

 

* * *

 

Bran drops his hand from the carved face. The world is blurry before it rights itself to the present. It won’t be long, now.

He watches as a clump of snow crashes to the ground from above. The heart tree’s leaves are heavy, weighed down by Winter’s first true snowfall.

Like a round of cyvasse, the pieces are all in place.

The final game has begun.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a different format to the fics I write. There are so many different POVs and changing scenes; I’m still not sure if it flows or works well. I think that’s probably why I had such trouble with it, haha. Still, it’s as good a time as any to post it!
> 
>  
> 
> _[ETA: If you commented on the version I posted on Tumblr, let me know here and I’ll gift this to you!]_
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thanks for taking the time to read!


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